Vessel

by Lisa A. Nichols

  Eventually they reached the suburbs, and Julie pulled up in front of a long white building with neoclassical architecture and a vast expanse of rolling green lawn. Everything about the place emanated an aura of calm. When they climbed out, Catherine could smell nothing but freshly cut grass and warm parking-lot asphalt—no other trace of the city they’d just left behind.

  Once inside, though, there was the unmistakable hospital scent of disinfectant and floor cleaner, but it was fainter than Catherine had feared. There were fresh flowers everywhere, and it was quiet. The staff knew Julie and greeted her, and a few of them recognized Catherine as well.

  David took Catherine’s hand as they got closer to Nora’s room and she gave him a grateful smile.

  The door stood ajar, and Julie rapped on it. “Mom? It’s Julie. I’ve brought you some visitors, is that all right?”

  A querulous voice that Catherine didn’t recognize came from the room. “Julie? Come in, come in!”

  As much as she’d tried to prepare, Catherine wasn’t ready for what greeted her. The room itself was reasonably homey despite the hospital bed that dominated the center of it. There were armchairs and a coffee table arranged in a small sitting area, and plants everywhere. The chairs were from her mother’s old house.

  The woman in the bed bore a passing resemblance to the mother Catherine remembered. When she’d last seen Nora, Nora had been a vibrant, quick-witted sixty-three-year-old with straight dark hair like Catherine’s. The woman in the bed looked as if some cruel magician had shrunk Nora and turned her hair dull gray with a malevolent spell. She was impossibly thin, as if she’d break under the weight of her own body should she stand up.

  Worse, the bright, sharp eyes that Catherine remembered were clouded and vague. There was no spark left in her mother’s face.

  “Mom, look who’s here. It’s Catherine. Remember we told you she came back from her mission.”

  Nora pushed herself to an upright position with a shaking motion that made Catherine ache, and peered at her. “Catherine. I had a daughter named Catherine.”

  “This is her, Mom. This is your Catherine. Look, she brought David and Aimee with her.”

  “Hi, Grandma.” Aimee had no qualms about approaching Nora, leaning over, and kissing her cheek. Nora smiled up at her and patted her arm. David greeted her as well, and it broke Catherine’s heart to see how accustomed they seemed to this.

  Nora looked closer at Catherine and beckoned her forward. “You look like my Catherine.” She reached out and gave Catherine a pat, then leaned back in her bed. “My Catherine died in space, you know. On another planet.”

  Julie and Catherine exchanged glances. Julie looked apologetic; Catherine gave her a resigned shrug, her hope fading.

  “How are you feeling today?” Catherine wasn’t sure if she should call her “Mom” or “Nora,” so wound up calling her nothing.

  Nora plucked at the bedding at her side before answering. “I’m going to get up later today. The nurses wouldn’t let me this morning.”

  Julie sat in the chair nearest the bed, and Catherine and David sat near the window, Aimee between them. Catherine put her arm around Aimee’s waist, and Aimee leaned against her shoulder.

  “Mom,” Julie said, “they just don’t want you to get hurt. You fell last week, remember?”

  “Eh.” Nora dismissed it with a wave of her hand then turned to Catherine. “How do you know my Julie?”

  Catherine looked to Julie for help. Should she remind her mother who she was?

  “Mom, that’s Catherine. Your Catherine. See? That’s her husband, David, and your granddaughter, Aimee, next to her.” Julie’s voice was calm, practiced, used to explaining things. Catherine felt a stab of guilt—again—that Julie was the one who’d developed that skill. Everyone seemed to be playing a familiar role here except her.

  “It’s me, Mom.” Catherine stood and walked over to the bed. “I’m here. I came back.” She watched Nora’s face, hoping for any sign of recognition at all.

  There. There was a flicker—wasn’t there? Nora reached out a hand to her and Catherine took it. “Cath? But you died.” Her eyes cut to Julie, pleading.

  “It’s really her, Mom.”

  “Why did they tell me you died?” Nora started crying and Catherine bent to hug her. As fragile as Nora looked, she felt even more so, as if she might crumble to dust in Catherine’s arms. She was fever-warm and smelled like baby shampoo. Her body was all sharp edges and angles, but she had a strong grip. “How did you come back? Catherine . . . my baby girl.”

  Catherine felt the sob rising in her throat. She was afraid of frightening her mother, so she tried to swallow it. “It was all a mistake. I didn’t die. I was just lost for a little while.” She couldn’t stop the tears, so she let them fall unchecked. Nora finally let her go, but held on to her hand, so Catherine sat on the edge of the bed.

  Nora fell silent, just looking at Catherine and smiling while tears trickled down her cheeks. Odd that this was the first chance she had to see someone react to the news that she’d survived. She glanced at David, wondering how he had reacted when he’d heard. Had he cried? Had Aimee?

  “I remember when Catherine was a little girl she wanted everything with airplanes on it. Books, pillows, clothes, if it had an airplane on it, she wanted it.”

  Catherine smiled at the memory. “Dad hated it. Said everybody thought I was a little boy.”

  “He was proud anyway.” Nora’s eyes went misty and distant. She wasn’t talking to Catherine. It was as if Catherine had disappeared. “He loved that girl. She’s smart, you know. She’s the smartest little girl in her class. Just the other day she brought home her idea for her science project, and she had to explain it to me.” Nora smiled. “Still not sure I understand it.”

  Catherine and Julie exchanged glances again. “How old is she, Mom?” Julie asked.

  “She’ll be eleven in a few months. Julie, my oldest, she’s fourteen now. They’re getting so big.” She looked up at Catherine. “Do you have any children?”

  Julie nodded at her, so Catherine answered. “One, my daughter Aimee, by the window there. She just graduated from high school.”

  “Ah, that’s a good age.” She patted Catherine’s hand again. “She going to college?”

  “Yes. She’s going to MIT,” Catherine managed.

  David came up behind Catherine and put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re very proud of her.”

  “MIT! Another smart one.” Nora chuckled. She fell quiet for a few minutes, and no one spoke. Catherine looked around the room. There was artwork she recognized from her mother’s house, but the most prominent item was a large whiteboard with the date and names of the nurses on duty.

  Nora touched her arm and Catherine turned back to her. “You know, you look just like my daughter Catherine.”

  Despair clutched at Catherine’s chest and she started to answer, but Julie shook her head. “I do?” was all she managed to say.

  “Just like her. She was an astronaut, my Catherine was.” Nora reached out for Julie, who came over as well. “If it wasn’t for Julie, I’d be all alone. My granddaughter and son-in-law live so far away . . . and I miss my baby girl.”

  Catherine fought to keep a smile on her face as David’s hands tightened on her shoulder.

  “I’m going to get up later today,” Nora went on, oblivious. “The nurses promised.”

  “Mom?” Julie indicated Catherine. “Who do you think this is?”

  Nora peered up at Catherine. “That’s your friend that came to visit me. She looks a lot like Catherine, doesn’t she?”

  “Yeah . . . she does.” Julie leaned down and kissed Nora’s cheek. “We should go, and let you rest.”

  “I have to rest up,” Nora agreed. “I’m going to get to go home soon.”

  It was too much. Catherine squeezed her mother’s hand and stood up, ready to flee. “It was good to see you,” she managed to say.

  “It was nice meeting you,” her m
other said, and Catherine hurried out of the room. David was right behind her, saying something comforting that didn’t actually provide any comfort. A moment later, Julie followed. She took one look at Catherine and the two sisters fell into an embrace in the middle of the hallway. Catherine hated crying, hated it worse than anything, but the sobs tore out of her, quiet but intense.

  “I know, kiddo, I’m sorry,” Julie murmured. “Come on, there’s a chapel down the hall; it’ll be quieter there.”

  The four of them made it into the chapel, but by then the worst of the storm had passed. Catherine wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. Sorry. She’s just so different.” Seeing her mother was a glimpse into how much worse things might have been for her. For all Catherine’s missing memories, she remembered the important things: who she was, who her family was. The three people around her were still hers, were still the most important people in her life.

  “I don’t know if it’s worse to have seen it happen gradually or to see it all at once,” David said, rubbing her back as they settled into one of the pews in the small room.

  “The first time Grandma didn’t know who I was, I think I cried for two days.” Aimee offered both women a pack of tissues she’d pulled from her purse, after taking one for herself.

  Julie took the tissues and gave Catherine one, wiping away a few tears of her own.

  “Does she know?” Catherine asked. “Does she ever understand what’s happened to her?”

  “Not anymore,” Julie said. “It was hard when she started getting bad. You’d see moments where she realized what was happening, and she’d get so frustrated and scared. Now . . . she’s in her own little world most of the time.”

  A world where Catherine was dead. And maybe it was better that way for her. She’d grieved and moved on. A world without Catherine was a more settled world. Not just for Nora. Coming back the way she had had turned all her relationships messy and painful and fraught.

  “I’m still glad I got to see her.” Catherine steadied her breathing and kept it from hitching. “I think I needed to. Do the doctors— what do they say?”

  Julie shook her head. “They can’t give a firm time frame, but she’s withdrawing. She’ll keep getting quieter and more still, they say. A few months, maybe less.” She sighed. “I didn’t want you to miss out on what might be some of the last days that she’s talkative.”

  “Thank you,” Catherine said. It was heartfelt, and she hugged Julie tight. “And she knew me for a minute or so at least. Maybe part of her will still remember that.”

  The sisters held on to each other for a long time, until Catherine had her composure back.

  “Come on,” Julie said. “Let’s get home.”

  15

  CATHERINE RETURNED HOME from Chicago with a new sense of peace and purpose. Nora might not have been able to give her the sense of self she’d hoped for, but she’d been the last piece of the puzzle, the one part of her old life she hadn’t come to terms with. Nora’s death would be painful, but Catherine could tell herself that Nora knew, somewhere in her mind, that Catherine was still alive. With that as resolved as was possible, Catherine was able to throw herself back into work, the last few days before the launch.

  Leah Morrison sat in Catherine’s office, leaning forward with the expression of someone relishing the “no shit, there I was” story she was in the middle of telling. “So then, we finally get the poor bastard back down to the ground and he’s got the shakes; he’s so sick his hands are turning green, but we’re supposed to shake his hand and tell him what a great job he did, because you know, he’s on the Appropriations Committee, right?”

  Catherine laughed and nodded. Dealing with politicians had been the worst. “How bad was it?”

  “Girl, he took off that helmet and his lunch went everywhere.”

  “He threw up right there in front of you?”

  “No!” Leah sat back, cackling. “He already had. Sometime while we were flying!”

  “You mean he sat there and—”

  “Yes!”

  Catherine winced but couldn’t stop laughing. “How the hell did he manage that without you hearing him?”

  “I don’t know, but the inside of that helmet was just wrecked, man.” Leah grinned at Catherine. “I’ll tell you one thing, that was the last time the captain volunteered us to take a civilian on a test run.”

  “So something good came out of it at least.” Catherine saluted Leah with her coffee cup, marveling at how normal it felt.

  A knock at her office door put an end to all that.

  Cal Morganson stood there with a bland smile. “Sorry to interrupt the pilot bonding time. Leah, can I speak to Catherine?”

  Leah stood up. “I’ve got a briefing I’ve got to get to. Wells, I’ll call you later this week, all right?”

  “You bet.” Catherine smiled and stood as well.

  Once Leah was gone, Catherine expected Cal to ask her to follow him somewhere, but instead he surprised her by closing her door.

  “Can I sit?” he asked.

  She motioned to the chair Leah had just vacated, and sat back down herself. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have some updates to the launch schedule, and I wanted to make sure you saw them.” He offered her a piece of paper—a memo she’d already seen earlier that morning.

  “I saw it,” she said, putting the paper on her desk. “Was there something in particular I needed to pay attention to?”

  “No. I just know you were out for a few days.” Cal paused awkwardly, and Catherine watched him carefully. Where was the ambush? Which direction would it come from?

  “Yeah. Family issue.” Get to the point already.

  “Listen, Catherine, I wanted to apologize. I was . . . out of line before. I hope there are no hard feelings.”

  “No, of course not. I know you’re just doing your job.” Cal thought she’d killed five of her closest friends or God knew what else, but sure, there were no hard feelings. Catherine kept the smile on her face. He wasn’t going to see a thing from her, not if she could help it.

  “I’ve been, uh, overzealous before. And it seems as if I was here, too. That’s really all I wanted to say.”

  Catherine had no idea how to respond, so she just kept smiling. “Don’t worry about it,” she finally managed.

  “I should go, but . . . thanks.”

  She watched him leave, and leaned back in her chair. His apology unsettled her almost more than his accusations did. It wasn’t that it felt insincere, necessarily. Cal had sounded like a kid who’d been told to apologize to his sister. Not insincere, but also not entirely willing.

  Which meant that he’d been talking to some higher-ups about his concern. Aaron, most likely. The thought was a tight hand around her heart. Cal had seen some of her lost time, some of her strangest behavior. How much had he told Aaron?

  Aaron must not be interested in pursuing it or he wouldn’t have pulled Cal back, but still. How much did NASA know? How long before her house of cards toppled?

  Catherine took several deep breaths. Things were fine. She was much better now, moving forward. She hadn’t lost any time since the night of Aimee’s graduation party. Dr. Darzi had been right—since she’d started focusing more on the present, things had improved. She could deal with a bit of NASA gossip.

  She picked up the memo Cal had brought her—now certain it was just a ruse to speak to her—and looked it over again. All she could do now was her job, to the best of her ability. She resolved to do just that. She closed her eyes for just a moment, and when she opened them . . .

  . . . she was standing in the middle of a room she didn’t recognize. She was at a computer, a collection of files open on the screen. The clock on the screen told her it had been nearly two hours since she’d talked to Cal in her office.

  Catherine’s breath caught and her pulse spiked. No. No.

  It had happened again.

  She was almost afraid to look around, to discover where she’d gone this t
ime. The room was small and dim, and there were rows and rows of file cabinets and shelves lining the walls. Microfiche storage boxes filled the shelves.

  The archives. It had to be.

  But why? She looked at the documents open on the screen in hopes of finding an answer, but all she saw was page after page of old emergency protocols and procedures, most of them outdated.

  Despair crept up her spine, cold fingers on the back of her neck.

  There had to be an answer here, but she couldn’t see it. She looked around the room, looking for some sign that she’d accessed something else, but no matter where she looked, she could find no clear answer why she’d come in here. None of it made sense. All the Sagittarius-related data was still too new to be in the archives, so it couldn’t be anything about that.

  Not to mention, how had she even gotten in here? The lock required an access code that she didn’t have.

  It hit her that security probably kept a log of every time someone accessed the room. There was probably a camera outside the door.

  Suddenly the room seemed even smaller, the walls creeping toward her. She had to get out. No one could find out she’d been here. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead, adding to the chill running through her. Not only didn’t she have authorized access but some of the information in here was way above her security clearance. If they knew it was her . . . Catherine had a sudden vivid image of security leading her out of the building in handcuffs, handing her over to the feds. Getting caught committing a security violation was the last thing she—or NASA, for that matter—needed. Aaron might be willing to overlook some strangeness on her part, but a security violation? Hell no.

  The image of her in handcuffs persisted. She’d lose everything. Aimee. God, she could already see the hurt and disappointment on Aimee’s face. She’d lose her job. David could lose his job.

  Because who would believe her if she told them she didn’t know why she’d come in here?

  She hurriedly closed everything on the computer and shut it down.

  Her heart hammered painfully in her chest as she peeked out the archive door before exiting. This time the hallway was mercifully empty, and she looked around and up in the corners, but didn’t see any sign of a security camera. Still, she didn’t start to breathe normally until she was on the elevator. Three people got on at the lobby level. She smiled and said hello. None of them looked at her strangely. By the time she got to her floor, she thought she must have looked fine.